


What's Left Unsaid

by slightlytookish



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Character Study, Episode: s01e05 Crossroads, Episode: s01e08 The Last Patrol, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Lack of Communication, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 07:53:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21442783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlytookish/pseuds/slightlytookish
Summary: Joe had more than enough time to finally take care of some pressing business, and with some privacy for a change. At least, that's what he thought, until Webster suddenly dropped down beside him and caught him with his hand down his pants.
Relationships: Joseph Liebgott/David Kenyon Webster
Comments: 14
Kudos: 69
Collections: Loose Lips Sink Ships Prompt Meme





	What's Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LLSS prompt: "What happens in the foxhole stays in the foxhole. Except for when one of them just won't shut up about it."

The 101st dug in for the night just outside of Nijmegen. Joe had a foxhole to himself for the moment; he was supposed to be sharing with Hoobler but Don had been tapped for a patrol and wouldn't be back for a while. Chow was over, the line was quiet, and Joe had more than enough time to finally take care of some pressing business, and with some privacy for a change. 

At least, that's what he thought, until Webster suddenly dropped down beside him and caught Joe with his hand down his pants.

"The fuck you doing here?" Joe demanded. He figured there wasn't much point in moving his hand and pretending that Webster hadn't seen. Webster had, and besides, anyone with half a brain would go away and find someone else to bother.

But apparently they didn't teach common sense in college because Webster wasn't showing any sign of leaving. He just sat there looking stunned, but then he looked like that a lot of the time, constantly going around with his mouth hanging open. Joe had always figured a Harvard boy would look smarter than that. Not that he spent much time thinking about Webster.

"Uh." Webster's mouth opened and closed several times as if he were trying to speak but couldn't get the words out. At any other time Joe would have laughed at him for it, but now all he could imagine was Webster on his knees and those lips wrapped around his cock. 

It made his dick, which had flagged slightly at the sudden intrusion, twitch with renewed interest, and that pissed off Joe even more. There was a reason why he never liked to think too much about Webster's stupid face. 

"Fuck this," he muttered, and that seemed to wake Webster up.

"I was looking for Hoobler," he finally said. He seemed unable to tear his eyes away from where Joe's dick was tenting his pants. 

Joe smirked. "You ain't gonna find him in there." 

It was too dark to tell for sure, but he'd be willing to bet good money that Webster was blushing. He certainly looked flustered enough and of course, that only egged Joe on. He liked it when Webster got flustered, and liked it even better when he knew that he was the cause of it.

Still, he'd never flustered Webster quite like this. He wondered how far he could push it. 

"So what's it gonna be, Web? You gonna sit there and watch all night, or you gonna give me a hand?" 

He didn't think Webster's jaw could drop further than it already had, but somehow he managed it. "What, you're not - you don't really-"

"What's the matter, Web, isn't that what you boys do at your fancy schools? Read a few books, suck a few-"

"Shut up." Webster was starting to sound annoyed, but he didn't deny it, which only made Joe grin and go on.

"Go to Latin class, jerk off your buddy under the desk…"

"Shut. _Up_."

Joe figured he'd piss off or scare off Webster; one way or the other, he'd get rid of him somehow and then he'd be able to get back to business. He never expected Webster to actually reach over and undo his fly. 

"Shit, Web. Warn a guy, will you?"

Webster's fingers stilled, which was exactly what Joe didn't want to happen. "You just _said_-"

"Yeah, yeah," Joe muttered. He shifted enough so that his cock brushed against Web's knuckles, and then did it again when Webster didn't respond. "Come on, what're you waiting for?"

Webster exhaled loudly like it was all a major inconvenience to him, but he finally wrapped his hand around Joe's cock, so that was something. It was better than something, because for all of Joe's teasing, he hadn't actually expected Webster to be any good at this. He supposed he'd made it easy for Web by slicking himself up before he'd been interrupted, but then Webster surprised him by making only a couple false starts before he figured out exactly how Joe liked it, and then set a pace that made Joe's head spin. It would've irritated the hell out of Joe if he hadn't been the one rocking into Webster's hand.

"Hey, Web, that's not bad. Good thing you got in all that extra practice at school, huh?"

"You're such a mouthy little shit," Webster replied. He didn't sound angry anymore, but he still pulled his hand away.

"Hey," Joe complained as Webster tipped him onto his side and curled up behind him. He didn't appreciate being manhandled by anyone, but now he could feel the hard jut of Webster's cock sliding against his hip as Webster started stroking him in earnest, and any further protests died in his throat. He couldn't find anything negative to say when Webster was making him feel that good. 

He came first, spilling over Webster's fingers faster than he would've liked. Web stroked him through it, and Joe was still trying to catch his breath when Webster finished rubbing himself off on his hip and went still, burying his face in Joe's shoulder to muffle a groan. He almost expected Webster to try and hold him afterwards, and be all sentimental and soft in some way that Joe would absolutely despise and have to put a stop to, but he pulled away and sat up just as quickly as Joe would have. 

Joe pushed himself up on an elbow and watched as Webster looked between his hand and the wet spot spreading across his crotch with a grimace as if he couldn't decide which mess to tackle first. It was something Joe normally would have made a snide comment about just to piss Webster off, but for once he couldn't think of a damn thing to say. Instead he found a balled up but mostly clean handkerchief in his pocket and tossed it in Webster's direction. "Here."

"Thanks," Webster said, sounding surprised. Joe ignored him in favor of tucking himself back in and doing up his fly. He could feel Webster's eyes on him as he cleaned himself off, though, as easily as he felt the weight of the silence stretching between them and growing heavier the longer it went on. 

"Hey, Joe-"

Joe didn't stay to listen. 

"Gotta take a piss," he said, climbing out of the foxhole. He took his time and then took the long way back, and by the time he returned to his foxhole Hoobler was back from the patrol and Webster was gone. And that, Joe figured, was that.

* * *

He was wrong.

A lot of shit happened in foxholes that no one talked about. Guys would cry themselves to sleep sometimes, or have nightmares that made them beg for their mothers, and in the morning no one ever said anything about it. 

It was one of those things that even the greenest replacement knew not to do, and yet early the next morning as they were boarding the trucks again Webster jogged up to Joe like nothing and said, "Last night-"

Joe grabbed him by the arm and dragged him around the side of the truck, away from the rest of the platoon and into the shadows. Webster's protests were smothered by the truck's sputtering motor as Joe backed him up against a wheel and got right in his face, which had the instant benefit of shutting Webster up. 

"You wanna do this here, Web? Think real hard."

Webster glared at him before he seemed to remember where they were, surrounded by officers barking orders and men calling to each other as jeeps and trucks trundled past, all the pieces that went with transporting a whole division across a country. He looked down at Joe's hand, planted squarely in the middle of Webster's chest to keep him pressed hard against the truck, but he didn't try to push Joe off. He didn't even say a word. 

"Yeah," Joe said. "Didn't think so." 

It would be so easy, Joe thought, to press a little closer. To slide his knee between Webster's, slip his arms around his waist. Here in the shade of the truck, where no one was watching or listening, it was easy to pretend that they could steal another moment or two. Maybe Joe could get his hand on Webster this time. Maybe he'd even kiss him. He'd like to see what Webster could do with that mouth. 

Maybe Webster was thinking the same thing. Either way, it was time for Joe to stop dreaming.

He gave Webster one last shove to the sternum - not hard, but just enough to let his words sink in, if they hadn't already - before he ducked back around the side of the truck and hopped on. Webster followed more slowly, settling beside Joe and practically radiating unhappiness as the convoy started out under the cold drizzle, but he didn't try to speak to him again. Joe told himself that he didn't give a fuck. It wasn't a conversation he wanted to have while they were being trucked through Holland. It wasn't a conversation he wanted to have, ever. 

Over the next couple days he could tell that Webster still wanted to say something to him. That was the thing about Webster, he didn't know when to shut up. He was always yapping about something - complaints mostly, but also useless bits of history or literature that no one gave a shit about. Joe knew it; everybody knew it. He wasn't sure why he'd expected anything different.

Now, he kept trying to catch Joe's eye, lips pressed together for a change like he was struggling to hold in the words, but Joe always made sure that he was looking somewhere else and talking to someone else until Webster went away. 

And then Webster was gone for real, wounded in the leg at the Island and evacuated to England. Joe didn't see it happen - too busy bringing those German prisoners to the CP and getting his own wound wrapped up - but Skinny told him about it later, and by then Webster was long gone. He hadn't wanted to listen to whatever it was Webster had wanted to say, and now he wouldn't have to. 

_Maybe Web'll fuck a nurse_, Joe thought later, idly picking at the bandage on his neck. _Or give the guy in the next bed a hand_. He didn't stop to consider why either option made it feel like something hard had lodged itself in his rib cage. Cigarettes were always a good distraction, though, and he kept lighting them up until the feeling went away or the smoke numbed it. Whichever came first.

* * *

"Are we ever going to talk about it?" 

It was late; second battalion had moved out of Haguenau and into reserve earlier that day, and the process had taken longer than it should have considering that they hadn't moved that far behind the line. But they were far enough from the Moder River that the buildings here were largely untouched by the mortars, and second platoon had taken over a sprawling two-story house with plenty of room for everyone to spread out. Of course, that didn't keep Joe from taking one step outside for some fresh air and a smoke, and almost tripping over Webster. 

He almost turned around and went back into the house, but he was no coward and he sure as hell wasn't going to look like one in front of Webster, of all people. So Joe went over and stood by him, leaning against the wall as he dug through his pockets for his lighter and a cigarette. 

Webster already had a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips, and it was drooping almost as much as Webster himself was now. He'd turned up in Haguenau four months late, looking cheerful and well-rested, but the sight of their decimated company had wiped the smile off his face quickly enough, and the patrol had taken care of the rest. He hadn't tried to talk to Joe about that night in October since he'd rejoined the company, but Joe hadn't exactly made him feel welcome. None of them had. 

Making Webster feel like shit for being away for so long had been more fun before he'd managed to talk the officers into letting Joe sit out the patrol - Webster, who always tried his best to get out of everything, and who didn't stick his neck out for anyone. It was even less fun after Joe had heard about Jackson dying in that basement, surrounded by his buddies who couldn't do a thing to help him.

When they'd left Haguenau in the morning, Joe offered Webster a hand up into the truck. At the time he'd thought of it as throwing him a bone, a peace offering to welcome him back in a way he hadn't been able to bring himself to do a few days ago. Maybe he could afford to extend his hand once more, now.

He lit the cigarette, feeling Webster's eyes on him as the flame caught. "Talk about what?"

"You know what." Webster sounded as weary as he looked. "Or did you forget?"

It would be easy enough to shrug it off and say that he had, and easier still to say, _like you forgot about us?_ But Joe didn't think that Webster had forgotten about any of them. He'd just thought of himself first, as always. 

Besides, Joe would be lying if he said he didn't think about it sometimes, that he didn't think about how Webster had felt pressed to his back, his breath coming in warm pants against Joe's ear as he brought him off. He told himself that there hadn't been a hell of a lot to think about while freezing his ass off in the woods all day, but the truth was that those memories of Webster had dogged his heels the way the man himself hadn't, from Mourmelon to Bastogne, from Foy to Noville, and Joe had welcomed them. They gave him something to think about when he was cold and tired and hungry, as the weeks stretched on and Easy was stretched thinner and thinner. Every day they'd lost more and more good men, and Webster still hadn't returned.

Joe took a long drag on his cigarette, forcing the smoke past the sudden tightness in his throat. "You were gone a long time, Web."

"I'm here now." And then, slowly, like it pained him to say it, "Even when I was here, you didn't want to talk about it."

For some reason, that angered Joe more than anything else, even Webster's long absence. It was like Webster wanted to make him feel bad about it, when Joe wasn't the one who had anything to feel guilty about. Not by a long shot.

"The hell is there to talk about?" he snarled. "You want me to say I cried into my goddamn pillow every night, thinking of you?"

Webster rolled his eyes. "Of course not."

"Well, what the fuck do you want, Web? Come on, tell me everything you've been dying to say. But y'know, if you really wanted to say it that badly maybe you should've broken out of the hospital a few months ago. Like all the other guys did."

Webster flinched, but that didn't make Joe feel any better. "I just thought we had something there," he said. "One good thing, in this whole shitshow of a place. Or that we _could_ have something, if we wanted to. And maybe I was alone in thinking that, but that's all I've wanted to say to you, Joe. I thought you deserved to know."

He tossed the end of his cigarette away and seemed to brace himself, as if he expected Joe to take a swing at him. But all Joe could feel was the anger draining out of him as quickly as he'd felt it spark, Webster's words hitting their mark better than any fist could. He looked away, taking another drag on his cigarette, and hated how much his exhale sounded like a sigh. 

"I ain't your best girl, Web." He hated how soft his voice sounded, too. "And I ain't expecting you to buy me dinner and take me to the pictures just because I let you put your hand down my pants one time."

He glanced at Webster, who was watching him warily. After a moment he seemed to realize that Joe wasn't going to deck him after all, and he laughed shakily. "Well, good thing for that. I don't think this town has a movie theater."

Joe snorted, and Webster seemed to take that as an invitation to go on. 

"And like I said," he added. "I hoped it wouldn't be just that one time."

Webster's voice sounded quietly hopeful in a way Joe hadn't thought could exist in the world after Bastogne. Maybe it was up to the men like Webster who'd missed it, to show the rest of them that it was still possible. 

He crushed the end of his cigarette beneath his toes and turned to Webster with a grin. "Shit, Web, why didn't you ever say something?"

Webster's eyes widened. "Are you serious? What do you think I've been _trying_-" 

Joe laughed and shut him up with a kiss.


End file.
